


Valacirca

by eldritcher



Series: The Heralds of Dusk [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:44:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4009849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are stars above her, shining red marking her fate. <br/>Galadriel smiles, and thinks that the Valar should have learned not to underestimate her by now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Valacirca

He watched the white foam laugh sprightly as the ship cut through the waves. Star-foam, Maedhros had named his brother; Elros. Elros had lived up to his name. He had wrought a life away from the yoke of their house, unlike Elrond, who had chosen to brave the fates. Elrond looked up at the stars. High in the skies shone the crown of seven mighty stars to swing, Valacirca, the Sickle of the Valar and the sign of doom. 

“Elrond?” 

He turned to see Thranduil standing beside him, the fair features thoughtful as green eyes watched the foam. 

“Why didn’t you join us for dinner?” 

Elrond did not reply. There was no need to further deplete Thranduil’s rapidly diminishing reserves of hope. He would keep his misgivings to himself.

“Celeborn is extremely worried,” Thranduil said quietly. “Galadriel’s sickness has shown no signs of abating. It is not due to the oysters, I fear.”

“Undoubtedly, her sickness does not have its root in oysters. I have no salve to soothe the sicknesses of the conscience, my prince,” Elrond offered a wry smile as he turned to look his friend fully in the eye. 

“Sicknesses of the conscience would not harm Galadriel,” Thranduil laughed. “She lacks conscience or so you remind me very often.”

“I no longer hold to that opinion,” Elrond admitted. “She has a conscience though its hold over her is regrettably weak.”

“Well, there is a gradual thawing of your frosty relations. Perhaps I can still look forward to the day you break bread with her.” 

Thranduil winked before leaning in to brush his lips against Elrond’s cheek. The familiar scent of fresh pine and strong Dorwinion assailed Elrond, stirring his loins despite his better judgment. All thoughts of Galadriel and Valacirca were forgotten.

“Damn you,” Elrond cursed his friend, trying his best not to let his sudden discomposure show, “that was low-handed, even for you!” 

“Nothing is beneath me and nothing is above me, my dear Elrond, as you well ought to know by now!” Thranduil laughed, his eyes gleaming emeralds in the cold starlight.

Elrond shook his head in affectionate irritation. Some things would never change. And he was grateful that they were so. He looked up at the stars again. His eyes widened in shock at the sight. 

“What is it, Elrond?” Thranduil’s worried question went unanswered but for the shaky hand that pointed upwards at the stars.

“Elbereth!” Thranduil croaked as he saw what the stars portended. 

×××

 

“Nerdanel,” Eönwë entered the forge without awaiting her permission. “You must come.”

She was hunched over a work-table, her determined features lit eerily in the firelight. Eönwë briskly walked to her side and peered over her shoulder. An exclamation escaped his lips when he saw bleeding fingers meticulously bestowing the final touches to a golden harp. His eyes widened in admiring amazement as he took in the care that had gone into setting each strand precisely. He had always held her work in the highest esteem, for so skilled was she. But never had he seen such a magnificent piece of craftsmanship as this harp. 

“When did you make this?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“I did not make it.”

He did not ask more. He did not need to.

“Nerdanel!” Finarfin entered the forge, his fair features sweating from exertion. He had probably run all the way from the palace to her workshop. She did not look up, her concentration solely on her task. 

Finarfin glanced at Eönwë, apprehension colouring his features. Eönwë shook his head reassuringly and placed his hand on Nerdanel’s shoulder to reaffirm his loyalty. Finarfin smiled wanly before speaking quietly.

“She comes. I am leaving to Alqualondë. I shall await her there.” Even a child could have detected the disbelief in his voice.

“She will not make it till there, Arafinwë,” Eönwë said gently. “All of us know that.”

Finarfin shook his head wearily and said, “I will not let my child die at sea. I am going to seek Varda’s counsel.”

×××

 

“Let me up,” she begged Thalion. “I must see the land. We are near land. I can feel its call in my blood. Please.”

“Altáriel,” Celeborn stroked her forehead lovingly, “we will alight on those shores together, as I promised you. Now, you must try to rest and spare your strength, for you will need it when we are disembarking.”

She willed herself not to be lulled into comfortable, blissful, false security that his words provided. She could not afford to deceive herself, not at this stage. Nor would her conscience allow her to deceive him. She made her decision instantly. She had never shied away from making decisions, of course, she rued. 

“You will tell my father that I loved him,” she whispered as she tried to pinpoint the direction in which Celeborn might be found. It was becoming increasingly hard to concentrate. The pain ripped her from within. She knew well what it was. She had expected it. She had tried to prepare herself for it. But that did not make it any less difficult to bear. 

“Nonsense!” Celeborn’s voice betrayed his fear. “Thalion, sedate her. She is delirious and I don’t wish to see her waste her strength away by this. Altáriel, I tell you, it was the oysters that we had. You are not used to partaking of such dishes.”

“Celeborn,” Thalion began quietly.

“I insist!” Celeborn barked before leaving the chamber, thoroughly frightened by her words. 

“Galadriel.” Thalion stooped over to examine her dilated pupils. “I will not recommend leaving the bed. But if you are determined, I will be honoured to help you to the deck.”

“I am determined,” she said firmly. 

Of course she was, always had been thus. Her lips curled wryly as she realized what the fruits of her determination would be.

×××

 

“You cannot spend all night staring at the sea,” Hórëon chastised. 

Celebrían shook her head as she paced on the same docks where once she had alighted from the grey ship she had travelled in. She looked up at the skies, wondering how many hours there were till dawn. Clouds obscured the carpet of stars, leaving a lonely circle to the north untouched. She peered at the bald spot.

“It is strange, isn’t it?” Hórëon asked.

“What is?”

“That the Valacirca alone would be uncloaked this night,” he remarked softly, his expression betraying none of the thousand doubts that plagued him. 

She stopped pacing and stared at the Sickle of the Valar. Cold and forbidding it shone above the sea, the only source of radiance that night. She did not need to be her mother to understand the omen.

“Has it happened before, Hórëon?” she turned to ask him.

He nodded sadly before saying, “On the day Ar-Pharazôn’s fleet was destroyed and Númenórë drowned under the sea, it is said.”

Celebrían closed her eyes willing herself not to think more about that. But all the same, she wished so desperately that her mother would set aside her pride for once and parley with Lord Manwë. 

 

 

“Naneth!” The young girl rushed to her mother’s side, holding a spray of violets in her hands. “I made this for you. Do you like it?”

Galadriel laughed at the endearing lisp her daughter had following the fall of her milk-teeth. Celebrían giggled, though she did not know why her mother was laughing. It was enough for her that her mother seemed happy. She rarely saw her mother contented. 

She reached up to clutch her mother’s hand. Galadriel sighed as she set aside her book and knelt before her daughter, so that they were eye-to-eye. Celebrían smiled again as her mother’s hands came to wrap her protectively. It rarely happened. Her father was usually the one to indulge in petting and cuddling. Galadriel had always remained affectionate, but aloof. The aberration that seemed to be happening then made Celebrían resolute to gather more violets in the future. 

“Will you keep them in your hair, like Elwing does?” Celebrían asked her mother hopefully. “You will look very beautiful.”

Galadriel smiled and Celebrían liked the way in which fine lines crinkled at the corners of those blue eyes. She reached up to touch them. Her mother stiffened and Celebrían stopped hastily. 

“I don’t keep flowers in my hair, my dear. Elwing is Sinda and I am not. I would like to pin it on my gown though. Would you like to pin it on for me, please?” Galadriel asked quietly, her eyes intense and yet, calm.

Celebrían nodded warily. A smile lit Galadriel’s features, thawing the distance between them like the warm sun on an autumn day. Celebrían’s spirits soared and she excitedly took the sprig of flowers.

“I don’t know how, Naneth,” she said in a soft voice, awaiting the cold words that might follow to reprimand her for the ignorance. 

“Then it is my mistake that I did not teach you, isn’t it?” Galadriel laughed. “Come then, let me make amends.”

Celebrían lost herself in the calm sea of her mother’s eyes and the cool, measured tones of that melodious voice as Galadriel instructed her in the art of flower-adornments. She wished it would be always like that. 

“My lady.” A young soldier came to them interrupting their lesson. “Gondolin has fallen.”

Celebrían hated the soldier, for Galadriel turned cold and aloof. Never had they enjoyed such a moment again. 

 

“My dear.” Hórëon’s arms came to wrap around her waist sinuously. “I believe that it will end well.”

“Please continue to believe that.” She turned to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “I will need your hope.”

×××

 

“My lord.” Ingwë knelt in obeisance before Manwë. “I came to beg a boon of you.”

“Your scion, is it not?” Manwë asked him quietly. “He comes with the kinslayers and the oath-breakers.”

Ingwë’s handsome, wise features betrayed the deepest grief as he spoke. “Yes, my lord. He is all that I have left. Spare him.”

“Ingwë, my dear friend,” Manwë sighed. “He has chosen his lot. We cannot persuade him otherwise.”

Ingwë did not reply. Manwë’s voice was troubled as he continued, “His judgment shall depend on his will. Perhaps he shall choose differently in the future.” 

×××

 

“You have been unusually quiet during the voyage,” Erestor told his companion as he rifled through the pantry for the Dorwinion.

“All of us have had things on our mind.” Glorfindel shrugged away the query with practiced nonchalance. 

“Of course.” Erestor smiled in assent, his eyes sparkling as he found what he sought for. “But there remains the fact that you have never before betrayed a tendency to go along with the emotions of the majority.”

“You are convoluting your sentences in the hope that I might be vexed enough to give you answers,” Glorfindel remarked, accepting the goblet of wine from his friend with a graceful nod.

“I am worried,” Erestor said simply as he settled down on the top of the crate, folding his legs underneath him in the manner of an eastern potentate.

Glorfindel could not suppress a chuckle at the picture his friend made. It reminded him of easier days, when all that he had to worry about was to keep Erestor away from orc trails. He frowned. Was it easier to battle known enemies than to fight unknown ones? Not necessarily, he decided, as familiar memories of Gondolin and its fall churned in his mind.

“It will not do.”

“Pardon?” Glorfindel queried.

“Whatever bothers you so, keeping it to yourself will not do,” Erestor stated calmly. “You will tell me, of course.”

“I don’t find myself particularly enchanted by the prospect of confessing my deepest secrets to you, provided such secrets exist,” Glorfindel jousted. 

He knew well this game of words. After all, he had been the one who taught Erestor. Though, he rued, he had not counted on the brilliant intellect that was Finwë’s legacy to all his descendants. 

Erestor raised an eyebrow in a manner that reminded Glorfindel of a certain bard. He looked away. The past would always make its presence felt. 

“I must be going then.” Erestor slid off the crate and smoothed down his robes.

“So you give up on unearthing my nonexistent, sordid secrets?” Glorfindel asked him half-teasingly. He knew his friend well. Giving up was a dissonant chord in Erestor’s music, just as it was in Maglor’s.

“I have resolved to use hitherto unknown techniques of interrogation to learn your secret, Glor,” 

Erestor winked and lightened his mien, good humour lacing his voice like the morning dew on leaves. But one did not need to know Erestor at all to detect the steely undercurrent of determination that lay beneath the suave tones. 

Glorfindel decided that he would be wise to fortify himself with a dash of fine wine before facing his friend again.

×××

 

Círdan struck his fist down on the steer as the machinery refused to obey his command. The wind had ceased and there came a great silence. He looked up. The only light came from the seven stars that shone directly above his ship. Darkness fell upon the deck, and the sea was still, while the mariner waited for what should betide.

“It is an ill omen,” Gildor murmured as he joined Círdan by the steer. 

“We are past the stage of omens.” Mithrandir placed a gnarled hand on the spokes of the steer and contemplated it for a moment before turning his head to the seven guardians of the sky. “It is time.”

×××

 

Finarfin joined his granddaughter at the docks and they kept a silent vigil. No words passed between them, for there was nothing to say. But as time inched away, she moved closer to her grandfather and her fingers crept into his clenched fists. His arm came about her and drew her close. 

“Arafinwë.” A voice he had never expected to hear again address him thus. He turned to meet Eärwen’s sad gaze. 

“My lady,” he whispered. “What brings you to the docks at this late hour?”

“That you love your daughter more does not mean that I love her not,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on the Valacirca. “That blood calls to blood holds true not only for those of your house.”

Finarfin shuddered. On these docks had Galadriel slain Olwë of Alqualondë during the first kinslaying. Eärwen had renounced her daughter and she had never granted audience to Finarfin again, not when he had come from the east bearing the tidings of their daughter’s marriage and not even when he had tried to present Celebrían, their grandchild, to her. 

×××

 

“I am sure it is the oysters,” Celeborn told Thranduil firmly for the seventh time.

“I am sure you are right,” Thranduil said soothingly, despite Elrond’s low murmur of protest. “Would you stop pacing, please?”

Celeborn wrung his hands in tension and exclaimed, “She rarely falls sick!”

“She rarely partakes of oysters,” Thranduil smiled.

“Are you sure that oysters are the reason?” Celeborn stopped pacing and glared at Thranduil for reassurance.

“Celeborn,” Elrond began tiredly ignoring Thranduil’s look of warning, “you are no fool.”

Celeborn cursed and began pacing again.

Before Thranduil could attempt to calm him, a shout came from the front of the deck followed by the slow, gigantic swell of a tidal wave that curled into a watery hammer looming above their ship.

“Elbereth!” Thranduil shouted as he rushed to the front of the deck, his warrior’s reflexes instinctively guiding him into the forefront of danger. 

The wave broke powerfully against the high rise of the vessel and Elrond clutched the railings to steady himself. Foam sprayed him, reminding him of his brother, of Númenor and its fall. He could hear Erestor’s strident tones issuing instructions confidently at the prow of the ship. He breathed in relief. 

Celeborn cursed again and turned to the chamber he had exited. The door opened and Thalion assisted a weary Galadriel to step onto the deck. Elrond watched in trepidation as she swayed on her feet for a moment. Before Celeborn could reach her though, she took a bracing breath and stepped free of Thalion’s steadying hold. 

The wind died out and the waves calmed. Elrond felt foreboding stir within him as Galadriel walked to the middle of the deserted deck, her golden hair cascading about her casting an iridescent sheen on her pale features. She raised her eyes to the heavens. Unerringly, they focused on the circular hole left by the clouds through which the seven stars shone down upon her. 

Darkness spread and Elrond could see naught but her slender figure in a shaft of cold starlight. The set of her jaw as she drew herself to her full height was not unfamiliar to Elrond, for he had seen it more than he had wished. 

And the skies accepted her challenge. A silent gust of wind pulled the curtaining storm clouds closer into the circle and all the stars were obscured but for one. Directly above her, fiery and forbidding, shone Carnil, the red. 

She was marked.

Waves crested around the grey vessel, set on pounding their fury into the wooden hulk of the ship. Círdan implored in vain to his guardians, Ulmo and Ossë. The dark clouds unleashed their torrent and Elrond leapt forward to push Galadriel away as a bolt of lightning struck the spot where she had stood a moment ago. He was dimly aware of Celeborn rushing to help them up. 

Glorfindel’s cry of horror resolved Elrond not to turn back and see what was unleashed. The ship inclined to the left and Círdan shouted for Ulmo futilely as he tried to charter the vessel into relative safety. A wave breached the railings to the right and Elrond cursed as it swept him off his feet, almost washing him down to the other end but for Celeborn’s strong, bracing grip on his arm. He hauled himself to his feet again and drew a shaky breath into his lungs. 

Galadriel staggered to the middle of the deck, her drenched hair plastering her thin frame. Her body was taut as a bowstring as she brought her hands up to the skies. For a moment, Elrond thought that she might supplicate. 

Then she spoke, her voice clear and proud.

 

I uru órenyë turuva i ambar, a númeheruvi!   
Caurë valmë nalmë tercánor i andúnë! 

 

And the clouds parted, unveiling a starry evening. The last rays of the defeated sun cast lingering shades of crimson over Galadriel’s unbowed figure that stood alone and defiant, her will strong and unwavering as she cast her challenge to the west. 

×××

 

Meanings

1.Galadriel's exclamation: Quenya. I thought it would be appropriate to signify the merging of all the plot threads from the very first story which had Varda's mistake to the fall of Númenor and Galadriel's decision to face judgement. 

"The fire of our hearts shall conquer the doom, O Lords of The West!  
Fear we shall not, we are the heralds of dusk!"

 

2.Carnil - The Red Star in the Great Bear Constellation. 

3.Valacirca - The Great Bear Constellation.

Canon References: Parma Eldalamberon, Ardalambion, The Silmarillion, HoME, LoTR and UT.

The Song of Sunset References: 

All the previous stories are referenced extensively since this is the so called la finale grande of our little world of sunsets.


End file.
